Come back to me
by MorbidMotive
Summary: People believed that Sherlock Holmes was heartless, but then John Watson came into his life. Five years later, the two are married, and many even say inseparable. But then John gets called back into action with only a month's notice. How will Sherlock take the news? I know, I suck at summaries. Basically, fluffy Johnlock! and some smut. Hope you like it!
1. Chapter 1

The moon shone bright over London as the rain drizzled down like tear drops from the clouds. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson-Holmes were laying in bed. Sherlock was asleep and nuzzled against his husband, wrapped tight in John's arms as he stroked the younger man's dark curls absentmindedly, staring at the wall.

_Only a month left. How am I going to tell him?_

He himself couldn't believe it, though he had read the letter countless times. The letter that held his fate. The letter that told him he was going back to Afghanistan. He had to read it about four times before it finally sunk in. Then the fifth time brought tears to his eyes. Not because he was worried about himself, but rather Sherlock. He had often told John that he was the only person that understood him, and now he was leaving, and may not come back.

It took him a minute to realise he was crying, and as he wiped away at the tears rolling down his cheeks, Sherlock woke up. He glanced up at his husband, then sat up, putting his hand on John's tear streaked cheek.  
"John, what's wrong?"  
John sniffled and looked at Sherlock. His Sherlock. His Sherlock that he would have to leave soon. He gave Sherlock a sad smile. "Nothing, love. Just a bad dream."  
Sherlock narrowed his sleepy eyes, examining John's. "I know that's not true."  
"Sherlock, I don't really think now is the time to talk about it."  
"But it's upsetting you. What's wrong? And don't lie to me again you know that I can see through your pathetic fibs."  
John sighed, fresh tears gathering in his eyes. "I, I got a letter in the mail today."  
"What kind of letter?"  
"I, I've been… called back to Afghanistan."  
Sherlock was silent for a moment, letting the words sink in even though he didn't want them to.  
"You… what?"  
"I have to go back to Afghanistan."  
"But, you, they can't do that. You were honorably discharged. You were injured, they can't do that!" Sherlock too had tears in his eyes now, and it broke John's heart.  
"They can, Sherlock. My injury has healed, and they need me."  
"But so do I." The tears began to roll down his cheeks and it was now John's turn to wipe the tears away from Sherlock's eyes, refusing to let his own fall.  
"I'm so sorry, love." He pulled the younger man into a loving embrace as Sherlock sobbed into the crook of John's neck. John rubbed his husbands bare back soothingly, trying to offer some comfort.

"Ssh, It's going to be alright love, I promise. It's going to be alright."

"You can't leave me."

"I have to, love. I am so sorry."

"How long?"

"At the end of the month."

"No," Sherlock choked out, and his tears became more frequent. That wasnt enough time. "Maybe, maybe Mycroft can do something about it."

"There isn't, Sherlock, you know that. There is nothing anybody can do about it." Sherlock began to shake harder and John pulled him into his lap and rocked him back and forth gently as he cried, wishing he didn't have to leave him. They remained like that for some time, John cradling and rocking Sherlock as he cried. John had never seen Sherlock so upset, he normally didn't let his emotions show. And though it may have just been because the consulting detective was half asleep, but it hurt for John to see none the less. Finally, after about an hour, Sherlock fell back to sleep, leaving John and his broken heart alone in the silence. John kissed Sherlock's temple gently and laid down, not once moving his arms from around Sherlock


	2. Chapter 2

**24 days left**

John called in sick to work the next morning. He just wanted to spend time with Sherlock. He woke up late and peaked at him; he was still asleep and clinging to John's night shirt like a life line. There were fresh tear streaks on his cheeks as he had been crying in his sleep. John kissed Sherlock's forehead and stroked those wonderful cheekbones, causing Sherlock to nuzzle in closer to his husband's side. John smiled, for a moment not thinking about Afghanistan, but in the end it just made him think about how much he was going to miss this.  
"God, I'm going to miss you."  
Sherlock seemed to have heard him say this, because his face scrunched up a bit as he started to whine in his sleep a bit, making it obvious he was having a nightmare. John kissed his temple and stroked his hair, humming a soft tune and Sherlock calmed once again. John didn't fall back to sleep, he just stayed up and watched the beauty and mystery that was Sherlock Holmes. When he finally awoke, he just stared into John's eyes as if it were the last thing he would ever see.  
"Morning, love."  
"Morning," Sherlock whispered quietly as he burrowed his face into John's neck. "You're late for work."  
"I called in. I wanted to spend time with you." Sherlock smiled against John's neck and pulled the covers up further on them both. "What do you want to do today?"  
"Doesn't matter. We could stay in bed all day for all I care. Just as long as I can be with you."  
"Staying in bed sounds nice."  
"Then that's what we'll do."  
John snuggled into the warmth of the blankets and kissed his husband on those beautiful pink lips he adored so much, a small smile playing on his own as he rubbed Sherlock's arm. "I love you," he told the younger man and got the sleepy response of "I love you too."

The two of them, the consulting detective and his blogger, just laid in bed. Sherlock was telling him the new facts he had discovered about the case they were working on, and John continued to stroke Sherlock's mass of curls. They got up around noon, and John made them tea while Sherlock looked at the files for their last case. He placed the cup in front of Sherlock and walked back into the kitchen without saying a word. Sherlock noticed this and watched his lover as he leaned against the counter.  
"Something is bothering you," he stated.  
"Well, yeah something is bothering me. I'm being called back to Afghanistan." Then, more to himself than to Sherlock, he added "How am I going to tell everyone."  
"Simple, just tell them."  
"It's not that simple, Sherlock. How would you have liked it if I had just waltzed up to you and said 'oh and bye the way, I'm leaving to be shot at once again in Afghanistan'?"  
"Upset I will admit but it isn't the end of the world John."  
"Huh, your attitude on the whole thing has changed drastically since last night," the ex-and-soon-to-be-once-again army doctor mumbled.  
"I can't be held accountable for my actions while half asleep."  
"I'll say. You actually seemed to care last night."  
"I do care John, how could you say I don't?" the detective said, a look of hurt in his eyes. John saw it and his expression softened a bit as he sighed.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm just stressed about the whole thing. You just, I have a hard time reading your emotions."  
"As do most people." John walked over and sat down on the couch by his partner, leaning his head on the consulting detective's shoulder as a long, thin arm was wrapped around his shoulders. "I don't blame you for being stressed. Just know I do care. It's the worst news I've gotten in a very long time. I'm just, not good with emotions."  
"I know you're not," John chuckled.  
"Just, promise me one thing."  
"And what is that?" John asked.  
"No matter what you have to do, stay alive. Come back alive."  
"I'll do what I can," the doctor responded, kissing Sherlock's knuckles.  
"And, I don't feel any different than I did last night. But again, showing emotion isn't really my thing."  
"But you know you can show them around me. I won't mock you about it."  
"I know you won't. That's why I love you. You understand me more better than anyone else." John smiled. He loved being the only person to fully understand Sherlock in ways beyond him just being a smartarse. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and rubbed small circles with his thumb. They sat there for a few minutes before John felt something cold splash his fingers. He looked down and saw a small drop of liquid resting on his digits, then looked up to see tears rolling down Sherlocks cheeks. John wrapped his other arm around the man and pulled him into a hug. Sherlock nuzzled his head into John's neck, still being completely still and silent, except for the rare sob that he couldn't contain. John pulled them back so they were laying down. Sherlock was laying on his back, and John laying on the edge of the couch on his side with Sherlock wrapped tightly in his arms. He pressed a soft kiss onto the younger man's forehead, and continued to do so a few times as Sherlock's hands balled up John's jumper in his hands, trying to pulling him closer, despite them already being pressed into each other.  
"Hey, it's alright love. I'm right here."  
"Please, please don't leave me," Sherlock choked out.  
"You know I have to. Don't worry, Love, I've done this before, I know what I'm doing." The thought that John had experience offered a little bit of reassurance to Sherlock. He moved his head from John's neck to his chest and over his heart, listening to his heartbeat. A soothing rhythm indeed. John moved a few stray curls from Sherlock's forehead and continued to whisper reassurances into his ear until they had both dozed off.


	3. Chapter 3

**18 Days left**

"Come ON, Mycroft, there has to be _something_ you can do!" Sherlock shouted at his brother.  
"For the last time there is nothing I can do, Sherlock."  
"Well… then try harder!"  
"Sherlock, when Doctor Watson signed up for the war he knew there would be the possibility of being called back into action. He signed up for the war and now he has to deal with the unfortunate consequences that come with it."  
"But you're the bloody British government, just tell them to find someone else!"  
"That would just put someone else in this position. It doesn't work that way. John was chosen for this, not someone else. Now I am sorry but there is nothing I can do."  
"UGH!" Sherlock sighed and fell into the chair behind him. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed dramatically. Mycroft looked at his younger brother and exhaled quietly.  
"I really am sorry, Sherlock. There is nothing I can do."  
Sherlock just sat there, unmoving, then suddenly jumped up, grabbing his coat and scarf and putting them on as he huffed outside. He wasn't sure how long he had been walking, when his phone beeped. He reached into his pocket and opened the text.

_Got a case for the two of you. I understand if you have other things to do. -GL_

John and Sherlock had told Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly about the situation the night after they discussed it. they had invited them over for dinner, but it was apparent something was bothering the couple the whole time.

"_Thanks again for having us over," Molly said, "this is nice."  
_"_Yeah, but what made you decide to do this?" Lestrade asked._

"_They can do things like this without reason, Detective Inspector," Mrs. Hudson tutted._

"_I know, it just seems like something odd is going on."  
_"_Actually, we do have a reason," John said.  
_"_Well, don't leave us in suspense," Molly pressed, thinking it would be good news, like the other two guests.  
John seemed hesitant. The others could see Sherlock grab his hand reassuringly. "I have been called back into duty. I am to leave for Afghanistan at the end of the month."  
Everyone was silent. Nobody really knew what to say. Lestrade was the first to break the silence. "I- I'm sorry to hear that, John. I really am," he said as the others agreed.  
John gave a small smile. It was all he could really do. "Thank you."  
_"_Oh dear, so soon?" piped up.  
_"_I'm afraid so."  
_"_How, how long have you known?" Molly asked.  
_"_Two days."  
_"_Well, I appreciate you letting me know dear."  
_"_Of course, Mrs. Hudson."_

Before he knew it, Sherlock was at the crime scene. He sent a text to John telling him to meet him there, whether or not it was convenient. He looked at the body once and knew what happened.  
"Killer ran to the east. It was a family member of hers."

"How did you know that?"  
"Easy. She was stabbed from the back, notice how the puncture is bigger on the back than the front therefore the whole of the blade ruptured her back and only a small bit punctured the front and unless he stabbed her twice in an exact symmetrical order, that's how it was done. Now when he took the blade out of her back, she fell on it with her head facing west. The killer took off to the east but tripped on her arm, which is the cause of the mud on her sleeve. Now, the blade has a family name inscribed on it, Witelson, and considering how clean it is despite the blood it was taken care of, someone wanted to cherish it. Very expensive and not to mention antique brand of knife, very, very old indeed. They kept in a safe place, not out in the open. Now, she has no ring on her finger or trace of a ring since her entire body is the same color of tan including her ring finger and that kind of tan is obviously from spending time in the sun so that excludes husband or fiance, boyfriend or girlfriend maybe, but I'm sure her family wouldn't want anyone that wasn't part of the family to know about the heirloom, so it is most likely a sister or brother due to the fact that her parents are both dead according to the two obituaries on the mantel. Lestrade who is sister Witelson. Angry sister who killed this woman to get her boyfriend for herself."  
"And how could you tell that last part?"  
"Easy. One of the pictures on the mantel has the face of a man with his arm around this young woman and the face of a woman cut out of it with the scissors still near it and the faces still on the floor. And if that isn't proof enough, we check her phone," Sherlock went over to the young woman and pulled her phone out, opening her text messages, "you will find the first chat of the list is Sarah Witelson. You open the messages, find that this young woman, apparently named Louise, found out she was cheating, and threatened to move herself and boyfriend somewhere she couldn't find them. Sarah didn't like her and responded with 'I would rather kill you' so Louise replied 'try me' and got back 'so be it'. Now if that is all you need, Lestrade, I will be on my way." Sherlock turned and left without another word. He sent a text telling John to just come home instead of the crime scene, and arrived at 221B in a matter of minutes, enjoying the crisp London air. He walked into the flat to see John taking his jacket off, and for some reason it pushed Sherlock over the edge. He walked quickly over to John and before the shorter man could say anything, he was pushed against the wall with his hands pinned over his head as Sherlock's lips crashed into his needingly. The kiss was full of passion and hunger and need and it didn't take John long at all to respond to the kiss. He managed to work his hands out of Sherlock's death grip and slid them down Sherlock's sides, untucking his shirt to rub his hands on his beautiful milky skin. John's touch sent shivers up Sherlock's spine and John smiled when Sherlock moaned into the kiss.

Sherlock moved from John's lips to his neck, sucking and nibbling as John ran his hands through his dark curls, small purple bruises forming on his skin.  
"Well, what brought this on?"  
"You're beautiful, don't let anyone tell you any different."  
"You're the beautiful one here. I love you so much, Sherlock."  
"Maybe we should move this to the bedroom."  
"Sounds good to me."

~Semi-Smut ensues~

The two of them stumbled into their room. John unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt and threw it to the side before undoing his trousers and ridding him of those as well. Once Sherlock was naked he started on John's clothing, tossing them aside to rest with his before pushing the older man on the bed, moaning at the feel of his hardening member against John's. He ground his groin into John's and God did it feel good. He planted his lips on John's and made trails down his jaw to his neck, then chest and then down his stomach to his groin. He kissed the tip of John's head making him gasp. Sherlock licked John's length from bottom to tip before taking it in his mouth, causing John to gasp once again and shiver. Sherlock licked his way up John's cock until he reached the head, licking his slit slowly, before taking the entire length in his mouth. John bucked his hips up, pushing his cock further into Sherlock's throat as he tried not to climax just yet. Sherlock took his mouth off of John's cock and moved up so he was eye level with John. "Roll over," he whispered to his lover. John obliged as Sherlock grabbed the lube out of the drawer. He lubbed his fingers up and stuck one of the digits in John's entrance, making the soldier moan. After sliding it in and out again, Sherlock slid in a second finger as he scissored John's entrance. He added a third after a while and then aligned himself with John's entrance.  
"Ready?"  
"Fuck Sherlock just get inside me."  
Sherlock slowly pushed himself in, slowly thrusting in and out, gaining speed. He searched a bit with his head before he hit John's sweet spot. John gasped and fisted the bedsheet in his hands.  
"Fuck Sherlock! There, right there."  
Sherlock rammed John in his prostate, thrusting harder each time making John, and himself, moan out. He continued to thrust hard until he couldn't couldn't hold on any longer. He released his hot seed into John and that pushed him over the edge as he himself climaxed before Sherlock fell on top of him, panting just as hard as John was.

~Semi Smut over~

Sherlock planted a kiss on his husband's shoulder blade before forcing himself off the older man. He grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and wiped John's and his own stomach clean. He then tossed the tissues in the bin and cuddled to John, who tiredly placed his arms around him and laid a chaste kiss on his pale forehead. He nuzzled his head into Sherlock's dark curls, following the world's only consulting detective into sleep.

**17 days left**

John woke up due to a slight movement at his side. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times before looking over to Sherlock. The man had his face scrunched up in a nightmare and was muttering small, inaudible phrases. He took a stuttering breath before whimpering in his sleep. John tightened his grip on the detective and stoked his curls, muttering soft words into Sherlock's ear.  
"Ssh, it's alright, love. I'm still here. It's just a bad dream. Everything is alright."  
Sherlock slowly calmed down before burrowing himself as close to John as he could. John rubbed his husbands arms and pulled the duvet up to keep the two of them warm. He placed a sweet kiss on Sherlock's temple and continued to mutter soft words until he was sure Sherlock's nightmare was over. He glanced at the clock; 3:10. He would normally be annoyed about being up so early on a work day, but John had told the hospital about being called back to Afghanistan, and that he had to resign so he had time to prepare. He was surprised at how understanding the staff was. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair as before he got up to get a drink of water. He walked out to the kitchen and turned on the tap while getting a glass from the cupboard. He jumped slightly when he felt long, thin arms wrap around his middle. He leaned back into Sherlock's chest and let the younger man hold him close. They walked over to the old couch and Sherlock sat down as John opened the window, letting in the cool night breeze and sound of small rain droplets pounding the sleeping city of London. Sherlock grabbed a discarded blanket from the floor and wrapped it around the two of them; one that was light enough to protect them from the chill, but still have them cuddle together. They looked out at the luminent street covered in small drops as they talked, laughed, anything really. It was nice. They had both been very stressed with the date coming closer and closer. At about 5:00, John nuzzled his head into Sherlock's neck and fell asleep, leaving the detective to rub his arm and leave small kisses on the top of his sandy blonde hair before getting up gently and playing his violin, ensuring that the doctor would have a nightmare free sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**What's this? Two chapters in one day?! YES! And I'm sick, so that just goes to show how much I love my readers :) (but seriously, I feel like shit. Headache, sore throat, cough, fever, runny/stuffy nose. Je suis tout raplapla.) So here it is, chapter four! Hope you enjoy! Sorry again that it's so short.**

**9 days left**

The crime fighting duo sat at Angelo's, having just ordered and were now holding hands over the extravagant white table cloth while talking and laughing about the case they had solved. As usual, Sherlock was right when he said it was the fiance. When their food arrived the two let each others hands escape the grasp and began to eat their food, but Sherlock continued to watch John. Noticing this, the doctor looked up at his husband and right into his mesmerizing eyes.  
"What? Do I have something on my face?" He asked.  
"No, just cataloging."  
"Thought you would have catalogued everything by now," John said with a small laugh.  
"I can never catalogue enough when it comes to you, John. You never cease to amaze me."  
John smiled at the comment, knowing Sherlock had intended it as a compliment. He brought Sherlock's hand up to his lips and kissed it, rubbing it gingerly as he looked in his partners eyes. They stayed like that until their food arrived, and they forced themselves to look away and eat their food. It was good, as usual, and they enjoyed having made the decision to go there. They ate and talked while doing so, enjoying each others presence and for a while, forgot about what would happen in just under nine days. When they were done, they left a tip on the table and got up to leave, their hands finding each other and fingers intertwining lovingly once more. As they walked the short distance to 221B, John laid his head against Sherlock's shoulder and smiled. He felt happy to be able to spend anytime he had left with the man he loved with all his heart. When they walked into the warm embrace of their home, after shedding their coats, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and pulled him close, leaning down to place a kiss on John's soft lips, a smile playing on his own. It was a soft and loving kiss, which he had noticed they had been having more of lately. And he loved it, showing John the love and compassion that the army doctor showed him, letting John know he was loved.

In response to the kiss, John ran his hands up and down Sherlock's sides lovingly, before resting them above Sherlock's glorious arse. Sherlock pulled John closer still so they were pressed so close it was as if they were fused, and it felt wonderful. Sherlock pulled back just enough to lift John's jumper off before John started with the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. He tossed the glossy purple fabric aside and marveled at the chest of his lover, running his fingertips down the pale skin softly. "Beautiful," was the only thing John said before leading Sherlock over to the couch. He laid himself down and Sherlock crawled between his legs and rested his head on John's warm chest, head residing under the doctor's chin. They stayed like that for what could have been hours or mere minutes; John stroking Sherlock's bare skin as Sherlock nuzzled warmly into John's chest. When Mrs. Hudson came up a few hours later and saw the sight, she smiled, closed the window, and placed a warm blanket on the two sleeping men before retreating downstairs to her own flat.

**oOo-8 days left-oOo**

When Sherlock awoke, the first thing he noticed was the familiar scent of his husband. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he was met with the beautiful sight of the doctor that changed his life so much. He kissed the soft chin that his head rested under, then got up and carried John to the bedroom, laying next to him and wrapping his arms around him. He watched the doctor as his fingers brushed his back, just as John had done to him the night prior. When John awoke some time later, he looked up and into the blue-grey eyes that always seemed so mysterious to him. He stared at them for a bit before placing a chaste kiss on Sherlock's lips and nuzzling his face into the long pale neck of his lover, inhaling his enchanting scent. The way the curve of John's face fit into Sherlock's neck like a puzzle piece and vice versa. Looking at Sherlock was something John could do for hours on end; his beautiful detective, lover, husband and best friend.  
"I love you," Sherlock whispered into the mop of blonde hair. He could feel John smile against his chest as his breath scampered across Sherlock's neck. They both enjoyed mornings like this, and would have stayed like that all day, if it weren't for the fact that Sherlock's phone beeped with a message from Lestrade, indicating that he had another case for the two if they were interested. The two got up, washed and dressed before heading to the scene of the crime.


	5. Chapter 5

**The night before**

John and Sherlock were at each others throats. They'd had a stressful day. They had been on a case and hadn't slept in three days, which was normal for Sherlock but not John, Anderson and Sally were more idiotic than usual, and of course, John left tomorrow, and they were both very well aware that he may not come back. It had started out with Sherlock saying something the wrong way, and when John asked him what he meant by it, Sherlock just looked at him, and continued playing the violin. It hadn't taken very long to escalate from there.

"Me?! YOU don't even care enough to TRY to get out of it! I stooped so low as to go begging to Mycroft to do something!"  
"I'm a soldier, Sherlock! I can't just call in sick or quit, it's my goddamn duty to go and fight for our queen! And how DARE you say I don't care enough! Leaving you tomorrow is going to be the hardest thing I've ever had to do! Not that you give a damn, as it seems!"  
"Of course I care! But you on the other hand have no problem pausing our life together to go and get SHOT AT!"  
"We've been through this a hundred times before, Sherlock! I don't have a choice! I don't want to leave you but I _have _to! And you know what, Sherlock?! If fighting with you like this is what I'm leaving behind, maybe it isn't such a fucking tragedy!" As soon as John said the words, he regretted them more than anything before. He had just proven Sherlock right, even though it wasn't true, it was just something he yelled out of anger. The look of hurt in Sherlock's eyes stabbed at his heart. Before he could even try to take back what he said, Sherlock spoke up.  
"You know what, John? Fine! Go and get shot at for all I care! In fact, I hope you get shot just like the last time! At least then all this will have been for something important!"  
Now it was John's turn to be hurt. True he had said things that he wished he could take back, but for Sherlock to wish for him getting shot? The hurt was quickly replaced with the bubbling anger, by which at this point was near overflowing.  
"I don't see how I'm not used to it yet, seeing as how shitty of a job you do protecting me! It's a miracle I'm still alive after being with you for five years!"  
"Yes your idiocy proves helpful once in a while! It sure as hell doesn't help when we're on a case!"  
"Fuck you Sherlock Holmes!" With that, John turned on his heel and walked through the door, slamming so hard that small chunks of wood splintered off, retreating to the room he once used before he and Sherlock had become a couple. Sherlock was left standing there alone. He hadn't meant the harsh things he had said, he was just so, so _angry!_ He retreated to his and John's room, and fell on the bed, grasping the sheets and pillows so hard his knuckles turned white.

Both men cried themselves to sleep that night.

**oOo-3 hours later, 23:00-oOo**

John laid in his bed asleep, but it was a restless sleep. He couldn't get to sleep because he couldn't stop thinking about the fight, and when he did get to sleep, it was all he could dream about. Yet he continued through his fitful sleep, until the door creaked open. His eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright, ready to attack if needed. He relaxed when he saw the familiar shadow of Sherlock. He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to calm himself down. Once that was done and he was a little more awake, he could hear that Sherlock's breathing was irregular. He looked up at Sherlock again and saw tears brimming in his eyes.  
"I'm so sorry," Sherlock whispered to John. John felt another stab of guilt in his gut as he moved over in the bed and patted the area next to him, indicating for Sherlock to come sit next to him. Sherlock did so and snuggled into John's warm embrace.  
"Me too. God, Sherlock, me too. I didn't mean any of those hurtful things I said. I'm so sorry, this wasn't how I wanted to spend our last night together before I leave. Fuck, Sherlock, you're right. I'm such an idiot." At this point, John had started shedding tears also. He tightened his grip around Sherlock as long limbs wrapped around himself.  
"No, you're not. I didn't mean any of it either. You're brilliant and if anything happens to you, no matter how small… John, I'm so sorry," Sherlock sobbed out. He normally didn't like to show emotions, but like John had said, he could show them around John. John loved him, and he loved John.

John understood. John was special.

John had stopped crying but tears still rolled down his cheeks. He leaned on his side a bit to look at Sherlock, whose neck was laying on his arm. He pulled Sherlock closer to him and gently stroked the younger man's cheek with the back of his hand soothingly, brushing, or rather smudging, the tear tracks away. Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed at the soft touch. He kissed John's chest and nuzzled as far into the touch as possible. Neither of them wanted to fall asleep just yet; they both wanted to spend as much time together conscious as possible before John had to leave tomorrow.

"I don't blame you for wanting to leave me," Sherlock whispered.  
"No, love, I don't. I was just angry. I don't want to leave you. Not ever. If there was any way out of this, I would have done it."  
"I know… John?"  
"Yes?"  
"I love you."  
John smiled down at the man, still stroking his cheek. "I love you too, Sherlock Holmes." After the small but plentiful exchange of 'I love you's' Sherlock's eyes started to droop shut. John could see that he was fighting to stay awake, so he leaned down and kissed Sherlock's cheek before whispering in his ear, "Go to sleep, love. I'll be right here when you wake up." So Sherlock's eyes gently shut and he fell into a deep but peaceful sleep. John smiled down at his detective before placing another kiss on his cheek, and falling asleep himself, his arms wrapped around the most important person in his life.

**oOo-The day of-oOo**

For once, Sherlock was the first to awaken. He felt warm and safe and instantly knew it was because of John, just like most mornings. he continued to lay there as if nothing was different, but when the realization set in of what day it was, his breathing stopped. His heart rate picked up and his skin turned to an even more pale shade than it already was. He felt like he was going to throw up. Gently yet quickly, so as not to wake John, he removed the arm from around his abdomen and ran to the bathroom. He emptied any contents he had in his stomach and leaned against the tub. There were yet again tears in his eyes but he refused with every ounce of strength he had to let them fall. He had burdened John with his emotional breakdown more than enough and didn't want to make leaving him even harder on John. So he wiped at his eyes, dragging the tears with, and walked over to the sink. He gargled water and brushed his teeth before taking a shower and getting dressed. He walked into the kitchen and put water on for tea and two slices of bread into the toaster. He heard the stairs creak and was met with the sensation of John's head leaning against his shoulder. He looked over to him smiling but the smile soon faded as he saw John's state. Blood shot eyes, pale skin, tremor returned to his hand. He'd had a nightmare. Sherlock didn't know how he hadn't heard it, John's nightmares were normally something that could wake Sherlock up even when they slept in separate rooms. He put a hand on John's back and gave him a small but reassuring smile. John returned it with a kiss before moving to his chair, where he plopped himself down and rested his head against the back. Sherlock walked up behind him and handed him a cup of tea, which he took thankfully. He sipped at the hot beverage as Sherlock's hands combed through his hair, leaning into the touch of the slender fingers.  
"What time?" the deep, caramel-like voice asked.  
"Not until 2:30. At least they pushed it until later today."  
"I'm sure we can find something to do until then," Sherlock whispered in John's ear, voice an octave or two lower than normal. "We didn't get to last night, after all."  
John had to smile. He was glad that Sherlock wasn't freaking out. He hated seeing him like that, it broke his heart. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's lips, then trailed down to his jaw, then down to his neck. Sherlock moved over so that he was in front of John, then proceeded to sit on his lap, straddling him as he wrapped his slender hands around his doctor's waist. He slipped his hands part way down John's pajama trousers and pants, sliding them slowly to the front, brushing John's member slightly as he did so. John moaned into the kiss, getting hard faster than usual. He locked his fingers into Sherlock's hair as said detective moved to John's neck, sucking and nibbling and leaving a small trail of small purple bruises. He lifted John's grey T-shirt over his head and flung it to the couch. He was about to start kissing his neck again, when he saw John's scar resting on his shoulder, a reminder of what was to happen in a few short hours. He started to shake slightly but kept it under control. He was _not _going to get emotional right now. He kissed the rough tissue lovingly and laid his head on John's shoulder for a moment. John rubbed small circles on Sherlock's back with the pads of his fingers. It was only a second or two before Sherlock resumed kissing the sensitive skin of John's neck.  
"Clothes. Off." John moaned.  
"Yours or mine?"  
"Both."

~Smut ensues~

Sherlock began to unbutton his shirt, agonizingly slow. John would have just ripped it off, but he was wearing his damned purple shirt, the git. Once the shirt was finally off and to the side John moved them to their bedroom and onto their bed, where he took over with the kissing. Normally there wasn't a fight for dominance, but John was determined to lead. He kissed the sensitive skin under Sherlock's ear and moved his lips down, licking his skin as he went. He pressed kisses to Sherlock's flesh as he moved down his neck and shoulders. He kissed down his chest, taking time to acknowledge each nipple slowly, making Sherlock moan out in pure pleasure as John smiled to himself knowing that it was nothing compared to how he would make him feel once he moved further down south. He continued kissing and licking the milky skin until he reached Sherlock's V-line. He kissed the bulge in his partners trousers before unbuttoning them and removing the last of his clothes. He looked down at Sherlock's erection, pupils dilated with lust. He kissed the head and ran his tongue over the slit, making Sherlock grasp the sheets, knuckles turning white. He ran his tongue down the length and back up, but never took it in his mouth. He moved up Sherlock's body and kissed his lips once again before slicking his fingers with his spit. He slipped a digit in Sherlock's entrance and then added a second as he began to scissor the detective. He lined up with Sherlock's entrance and slipped inside. Sherlock moaned out as John pushed further inside slowly. Sherlock's dug his fingers into John's back hard enough to draw small droplets of blood. John waited a moment before pulling out a bit, and sliding back in. He did this a few times before picking up the pace, and soon he was pulling almost all the way out and ramming his cock inside Sherlock's entrance. On the fourth time he found the small ball of nerves and rammed it, making Sherlock gasp out in surprise. He rammed into it harder and faster with every thrust of his hips.  
"Joh-" Sherlock tried to say but it just came out as another deep moan. John pressed his lips to Sherlock's in a sloppy kiss as he continued to ram into him. The doctor loved how he could reduce his detective to putty in his hands. He continued to thrust harder and harder into Sherlock before pausing for a moment.  
"Touch yourself," he whispered in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock reluctantly grabbed his aching cock and began to pump slowly. He groaned out as his fist tightened, and John began thrusting once more. He soon pumped in time to John's thrusts and three minutes later, he erupted onto his abdomen as John released into Sherlock's tight, beautiful arse.

~Smut over~

John fell next to his lover on their bed, damp with sweat. He welcomed Sherlock into his arms as he tried to slow his breathing.  
"God, I love you."  
"I love you too," came the muffled reply.  
"What time is it?"  
Sherlock glanced at the clock. "9:30."  
"We should probably start getting ready around 11:00. It's an hour and a half drive to the airport." He could feel Sherlock nod underneath him as his curly hair tickled his skin. They just laid there until it was time to get ready. They showered together, holding each other in their arms and taking a few extra minutes to just stand under the hot water together, swaying ever so slightly as unspoken words were exchanged. They only spoke once, and that was to exchange an ''I love you''. Sherlock kissed the top of John's wet head and John kissed Sherlock's chest and neck. After a few minutes of cuddling in the shower, they turned the hot water off and went to get dressed. Sherlock was done first, since he didn't have a full uniform to put on. He went out into the living room and about three minutes after, John walked out.

When he saw John in his uniform, Sherlock almost lost it, but tried his best to keep it under control, but he couldn't stop the shaking and couldn't breathe quite right. John noticed this and walked over to him, embracing him in his strong arms, rubbing his back gently. He could hear Sherlock take a shaky breath and knew he was crying. He rubbed his back soothingly as he kissed his temple.  
"Ssh, it's alright love. You'll be alright."  
"Not if something happens to you."  
John looked at his watch, they still had a few minutes. He took Sherlock's hand and lead him over to the couch. John sat down and Sherlock laid his head on his lap, nuzzling his tear streaked face into John's uniform.  
"I'm sorry," the detective choked.  
"What for?"  
"I've been such a mess lately, I haven't been there for you. I'm sorry."  
"No, love, don't be. I love you so much and I know you care because I see how upset this makes you. I'll be alright, I've done this before. I won't be away for more than two years, and I'll get to come home now and then also. I can call and email you and write to you, and I will always be thinking of you. I love you, Sherlock, I always will." John's kind words only made Sherlock shake harder, and tears started to roll down his cheeks as he nuzzled his face in John's uniform further. He hated the uniform. It was just a reminder that John was leaving.

They stayed like that, with John's hand running through Sherlock's dark curls and Sherlock laying his head on John's lap, until they heard the horn of the taxi outside. Sherlock tensed and John had to ease him into getting up. He slung his duffle over his shoulder and took Sherlock's hand, and lead them both out to the taxi. They sat side by side, with John's arm around Sherlock's waist. They sat in silence until they got to the airport.  
"How much?" John asked the cabbie.  
"No charge," he replied, seeing that John was a soldier about to be deployed.  
"Thank you," John said, smiling. He and Sherlock walked into the airport and over to a group of men and women in similar uniform. John checked his bag and showed his ID, clarifying he was indeed a soldier and that he was meant to be there.  
"Watson!"  
John looked around until he found the person that had called his name out. "Dilbrey! It's great to see you again, mate. How you been?"  
"Fine, until a month ago. You?"  
"Great until I got my notice. Married, even."  
"Oh yeah?"  
"Yeah. Dilbrey, this is my husband Sherlock." He grabbed Sherlock's hand gently and pulled him to stand next to him.  
"Great to meet you, Sherlock." Dilbrey stuck out his hand and Sherlock shook it.  
"Likewise."  
"I'm gonna go for a bit. See you when we board, mate."  
"Right."

Sherlock and John went and sat down for a while, both silent. John knew that it was hard for Sherlock to be around all the soldiers right now, so he offered to do something. "Want to go and get something to eat?" Sherlock just shook his head no. They continued to sit there for a while, Sherlock's hand in John's with John's head on his shoulder and Sherlock's head on top of his own. John moved his head to look up at Sherlock. He was met with those icy eyes and kissed their owner gently on the lips.

When the dreaded announcement that it was time to board was made, Sherlock gripped John's hand so hard the doctor was losing circulation in it. He gently eased it out of his own and hugged Sherlock tightly.  
"I love you, Sherlock. So, so very much. Promise me you won't do anything stupid?"  
"I promise. I love you more than you will ever know. Come back to me, John. Promise me. Come back to me."  
John was silent for a moment. "I will, love. I promise."  
John hated having to do it, but he unwound his arms from around Sherlock's waist, then had to force Sherlock's arms off his own waist. Sherlock had silent tears crawling out of his eyes and the sight made John cry too. He gave Sherlock one last kiss, rubbed his cheek twice with his soft hand, said 'Goodbye, Love. I love you so much.' and then turned to board the plane, knowing if he waited any longer, he wouldn't be able to leave.

Once on the plane, John took a seat next to the window so he could see Sherlock as long as possible. The detective had tears in his eyes and before John knew it, he did too. When the plane started to move, he could see Sherlock's chest heave with unheard sobs and waved to him, mouthing 'I love you' until the plane was in the air and Sherlock was out of sight.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**15 months later**

Sherlock clung to the letters that John sent, and the emails and photo's as well. He kept them safely stored in a shoebox in their wardrobe. Every night, he would take the box out and read every letter, every email and look at every photo until he fell asleep, clutching John's pillow as if it were John himself, taking in his smell. When that stopped working, he used John's jumpers and after they stopped working he went up and slept in John's old room. It was smaller than the detective's room, but smelt carried his scent like a cologne. He would curl up in the bed and imaging his John there, with him, and not out in a desert tent, tending to injured soldiers, or out on the field getting shot at. When his mind wandered, he would enter his mind palace and go into John's room. It was filled with all things John, and he had enlarged it several times but he didn't care, he would enlarge it to no end as long as he could remember every detail about John; his smell, how hot he liked his tea, the way he would kiss Sherlock's neck when they would make love, any and all things John.

When he awoke the next morning, he had a text from Lestrade asking for help on a case. He accepted it, though he was a bit surprised that the DI was still offering them to him. He hadn't been as tolerable without John there, and he hadn't been as sharp either. He couldn't function properly without his other half. He had accepted the case, and had gone to the scene, spitting out all the deductions he had as fast as he could. Seeing a dead body full of bullet holes made him want to throw up. He had run out of the crime scene and hailed a cab, and when he got home, before he could even get up the stairs, there was a knock at the door. Sherlock answered it to be met with a man in uniform, only one arm, obviously military. Sherlock's heart nearly stopped.  
"Yes?" he managed to ask.  
"Hello, sir. My name is Joshua Surman, of the fifth northumberland fusiliers."  
"John," Sherlock whispered. No, this can't be happening.  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Watson-Holmes. Captain John Watson-Holmes has been declared KIA." He handed Sherlock an envelope. "He left this for you," he said awkwardly. "You'll get a call from St. Barts, asking you to identify a body, but you can choose another of his kin to do it if you choose."  
"How did this happen?" Sherlock asked, not fully aware of the tears that were running down his cheeks like a river.  
"There was an explosion on the field, where Captain Watson was fighting. None of the soldiers survived. I'm so very sorry for your loss," he said, looking pitied. It only took Sherlock one glance to know that this man had known John as a friend, not just a commanding officer. He nodded his thanks and shut the door as the soldier walked away. He walked up the stairs to the flat, ignoring Mrs. Hudson when she asked who was at the door. He sank down into John's armchair and opened the letter.

_Hello, Love.  
If you are reading this, it meant I couldn't keep my promise, and I am so, so sorry. But I need you to stay strong for me. Just because I couldn't keep my promise doesn't mean you can break yours. I want you to live a happy life, move on, meet someone else. Just please, Sherlock, please do me one last favor. I will always be next to you, in fact, I'm right next to you as you read this letter, and I will be every moment after, until the end of your life, which better not be for a long time mister. I will always be in your heart, your mind palace, and your dreams. Just think of those memories whenever you feel sad. Take cases, but not just to put yourself in danger. I will be running right beside you. _

_I want to thank you, Sherlock. When I came back from Afghanistan the first time, I was a broken man who had nothing to live for. Then you came into my life and gave me so much more than I ever dreamed of having. You once said that heroes don't exist, but there is one. It's you, Love. It's always been you. I love you so, so much, and will always be standing right beside you. Please, take care, Love. I know it will be hard, but please, do it for me, and do it for Mrs. Hudson. I don't think she could stand to lose both her boys.  
I love you, Sherlock. So very much and I died knowing that you love me too. _

_I will see you again someday, but until then, this is goodbye._

_Love-_

_John Watson-Holmes._

There were tear marks on the letter from where Sherlock's tears had fallen. He clutched the letter to his heart and sobbed harder than he ever had. He sobbed and sobbed and could feel his heart being ripped and torn and burnt and stepped on and squashed flat all at once. And it hurt, it hurt so much that it just made him cry harder.

Mrs. Hudson came running up the stairs as fast as her bad hip would let her when she heard the heartbreaking sobs of one of her boys. She asked Sherlock what was wrong, but no matter how hard he tried to stop sobbing, he couldn't. He could only get out one word. "J-John!" he sobbed. Mrs. Hudson didn't have to ask what he meant. Tears fell from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Sherlock, who despite all he had ever thought about displays of emotion, leaned into the embrace and cried into her arms for his lost love. She held him tight and rubbed his back much like a mother and child as his body racked with sobs. In all honesty, she wanted to cry just as hard as Sherlock. The two of them were like her sons, and she had just lost one. But she stayed strong, if only for Sherlock.

Sherlock cried for about ten minutes, before no more tears would come, though his body still racked with heaving sobs. Mrs. Hudson helped him to stand and lead him to his room, helping him into bed. She sat on the edge and rubbed her hand soothingly over Sherlock's dark curls until he was asleep. Just before falling asleep, he said "Mrs. Hudson, please come with me tomorrow. I can't do it alone." to which she smiled and said "Of course, Sherlock." When he was asleep, she went down to her own flat and had a proper cry.

xxx

They were now walking down the hall to St. Barts morgue to identify the body of John Watson-Holmes.

Sherlock hadn't said anything the entire day. He would answer by shaking his head, nodding his head, or shrugging his shoulders. If it wasn't a yes, no, or maybe question, then it would go unanswered. Mrs. Hudson thought that maybe he was stuck in his mind palace, thinking about John. When they got to the morgue, they were lead inside by a man Sherlock hadn't seen before.  
"Mr. Watson-Holmes?" Sherlock nodded and Mrs. Hudson stayed silent. "Right. I'll leave you alone. Let me know when you've finished." The man walked out and left Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson in a room of twenty something dead male soldiers.

All the bodies were mutilated from the explosion. Some had melted skin and some had missing skin, which made it harder to find and look at. For the first few minutes, he couldn't find John, and against his better judgement, grew a bit hopeful. But then he found him, the last body he looked at. He stared for a few moments as fresh tears pricked at his eyes.  
"Mrs. Hudson," he started, his voice raspy from not being used all day, "could you please go and get the man?"  
"Of course, dear." She turned to walk out of the door, not even getting through it before she heard Sherlock's sobbing.

**Don't hate me. There are still more chapters to come, and who knows? Maybe John isn't dead? Read to find out!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"_Mrs. Hudson," he started, his voice raspy from not being used all day, "could you please go and get the man?"  
_"_Of course, dear." She turned to walk out of the door, not even getting through it before she heard Sherlock's sobbing. _

"John," Sherlock choked out. He grabbed his cold hand in his own, but it felt… different. He didn't really notice though. He placed his head down on John's shoulder and froze. His hope started to build back up when he realized that the skin on John's left shoulder was perfectly smooth, not scarred like it should have been. He tentatively pulled the sheet back to reveal that there was no scar on the soldiers shoulder. This wasn't John.

The man and Mrs. Hudson came back into the room and Sherlock spun around so quickly it made him dizzy.  
"Are these all the dead bodies?"  
"Yes sir."  
"Did any of them come in wearing a wedding ring around their dog tags?"  
"Now that you mention it, there was one man with a ring on his tags, but the tags were severely damaged. The ring was fine though, he must have protected it in the blast."  
"Show it to me!" Sherlock said impatiently. He had to know. The man got the bag containing the mysterious soldiers belongings and pulled out the dogtags. As he said, the tags were beaten up but the ring was near spotless, only a few small scratches. It was John's ring. As if he needed more proof, he looked on the inside and saw the engraving _My Blogger._ "This is John's ring! Quick, the soldier who came in with these, where is he?"  
The man checked the room number on the bag. "Room 314, he got out of surgery hours ago but he's still unconscious thanks to the drugs."  
"What happened?"  
"Several broken bones and possible internal bleeding. Maybe more."  
Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were running up to the room 314, shoving nurses out of the way until they finally got there. Sherlock tried to get in the door to his John but was stopped by a nurse.  
"You have to let me in!"  
"Are you friend, or family?"  
"I'm his bloody husband now let me in!"  
"Sherlock, dear, calm down," Mrs. Hudson instructed.  
"If that's the case you can go in but please try not to wake him up, he's very weak."  
"Will he survive?" Sherlock choked, almost fearing the answer  
"Yes, we managed to stop the bleeding and reset his bones, but please be gentle."

Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson walked in the room to see a very beaten up but still alive John. The tears that had paused themselves were now running again at the sight of his John alive. He ran over to the bed and was about to wrap John in a giant bear hug when he remembered to be gentle with the sleeping man, so he gently laced their fingers together, and it felt so right. He pulled on John's hospital gown a bit and was met with the familiar webbed scar that ran on John's shoulder. Mrs. Hudson smiled before leaving Sherlock alone with his husband.

Sherlock gently soothed back John's recently cleaned hair and kissed the back of his hand. At the familiar and comfortable feeling, John started to wake up.  
"John," Sherlock whispered, still soothing his hair, "John, wake up sweetheart, wake up." John's eyes scrunched up and slowly opened as he turned to look at Sherlock. He smiled a weak smile and tried to speak, but no words would come out. Sherlock got him a glass of water and helped John drink it.  
"Hey, love," John rasped.  
"Don't ever scare me like that again, understand?" Sherlock tried to sound serious, but between the tears, the cracking voice and the small relieved smile that crept onto his face, it didn't work as well as he had thought. He leaned down and kissed John's forehead, not wanting to restrict his breathing.  
"I'm so sorry, Love."  
"Don't be. You kept your promise, that's all I could have asked for."  
John tried to shift over on the bed, but it was to painful. He had five broken ribs, a broken leg, burn marks on his arms, a gash above his eye, a fractured knee cap (on his non-broken leg) and a dislocated arm.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to John, then kissed his nose delicately, as if he would break if handled too rough, which he might have. He nuzzled his nose into John's hair and breathed in his husbands scent. He like that for a few minutes, staying as close together as the injuries would allow, when Sherlock felt the doctor shake. He looked down to see tears running down John's cheeks silently as his whole body shook. He wasn't sobbing harshly, but he was obviously upset, as to be expected. Sherlock wrapped him in a light hug and shushed him quietly, letting the doctor know that he was still there, and that he wouldn't leave. He soothed John's hair and rubbed his thumb over his neck, doing anything he could to comfort the soldier and return the favor for the month before John had left.

When John's tears stopped, Sherlock moved down on the bed so that he could look John in the eye, those beautiful, tear-filled bright blue eyes. "I love you, so much John. And I will be here with you through this. Alright?" John nodded and smiled his thanks. Sherlock lifted his husband's chin gently so that John was forced to look him in the eyes. "I married the most beautiful man alive when I married you." John smiled again and replied with "I could say the same about you." Sherlock smiled this time and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on John's chapped but still soft lips.

**Okay here's the plan. This is the last chapter for this story, but I'm going to write a sequel that revolves around John's recovery, titled, oh so cleverly, 'Recovery'. Hope you enjoyed this story!**


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